The Ties that Bind: Of Sparks and Hearts
by Ray of Starlight
Summary: It's been months after the battle in LA. The Autobots and their contacts would like nothing more than to step back and take a deep breath, but when a war is being waged to determine the fate of the planet Earth you really don't have that luxury.
1. Preface

**A/N:** I'm back. This is merely a teaser to the story so it's really short. I got a lot of inspiration for this story from reading a lot books. It's what I pretty much did all summer besides work (yay). I think when I counted them all out it ended up being over 30. It was SICK. So anyways, this is a sample to the full story. Optimus, Peyton, Sam and all the other Autobots and contacts are coming back for round two with a whole bunch of crap being thrown at them from Sam's developing powers to straightening out some relationship issues, not to mention Megatron is on the run and Barricade is AWOL. So I'm posting this now before finals begin, then I want to finish _Twin Times the Fun_ and then my focus will be on this and some original stuff that I'm working on. So here you go. This is the first installment for _The Ties of Bind: Of Sparks and Hearts_.

If you are new and just happen to stumble upon this and want to read it I highly suggest reading _The Ties that Bind_ first. You really won't know what's happening if you don't.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All OCs are mine. All mine. (lol)

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Preface

Awhile ago, I had never really given much thought as to how I would die. I don't think many of us do. I think most of us hope to die of old age. We hope to live a long, full life, long enough to see our grandchildren, stick around for a few birthdays and pass away surrounded by our loved ones. But I never dwelled on how I would die. I never thought about the circumstances that would lead to my death. But no matter how little or how much I thought of it, how I was going to die now was the last thing I could have imagined.

I was vaguely aware of my name being called, both panicked and shocked. I was focused on the blood that was coating my hand. There was a stabbing pain in my chest due to the slug that ripped through my body like butter. There had been two gunshots. One that hit me and another that took out the one that shot me. I think Will might have been responsible for the second shot, but I was pretty sure it was safe to assume that the damage had already been done.

I looked up into the startled face of my guardian. I mentally cursed. He was going to blame himself, I knew it. But it wasn't his fault. I would have loved to tell him this, but I only managed to open my mouth before everything spun out of control and I was falling.

Oh, God, don't let me fall.

Jason ran for me, catching me under the arms. I was bleeding on him. He had only been holding me for a second and my blood had already seeped into his shirt. It must've been really bad. He laid me on my back. Honestly, I didn't like the vulnerable position.

"Ratchet!" he yelled.

Though my haze, I hear Ratchet transforming and soon enough a familiar MHG was hovering over me. Jason had removed his jacket and was pressing it to my chest, calling out orders to the personal standing around. Ratchet called for my guardian. I automatically reach for him. If I was going to die I was going to be selfish and I wanted him to hold my hand.

He knelt over me, in his human form, his wide blue eyes distraught and agonized as he stared down at me. Even as Ratchet and Jason fought a failing battle to save me and even as the darkness swarmed my vision, I could only focus on him. His guilt was hurting me more then the bullet had. I didn't want him to feel responsible, but I was a fool for think he'd feel otherwise.

"T-Two minutes," I said breathlessly. "I have less than two minutes."

"The bullet severed an artery," Jason confirmed. "I can't stop the bleeding."

My guardian's fierce eyes turned on Jason in desperation. "You have to. I'm not going to let…"

"No," I gasped. "Can't fix it. I'm not going to…" Did I really need to finish that sentence?

He shook his head in denial. "No."

I was hit by another stab of pain that seemed to resonate through my entire body to the tips of my fingers to the ends of my toes. "D-Don't leave me, o-okay?" I asked him. "I don't want to go alone."

He kept shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and horror. When Ratchet and Jason moved away, he yelled at them to get back, his voice verging on hysterical, something I never thought I'd hear in his voice. They looked on helplessly and I think that's when he unwilling accepted that what was happening couldn't be stopped.

My hand flopped onto my chest. I managed to find the strength to raise it to his face, letting my fingers touch his strong jaw, but I cringed at the streaks of red that I left behind. I settled that at least he would be the last good thing I touched. My hand fell, limp and lifeless, like it already knew that I was dead while my mind struggled to keep up. I felt the blackness close in and my eyes began to lose their focus.

"Don't," he begged.

"I-I can't…"

"_No!"_

"I love…"

"_NO!"_

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**A/N:** Told you it was short. The whole story will not be in 1st POV. I just wanted it to be more real for the reader. So I hoped you enjoyed all 726 words of this, not including my author notes. Like I said, this is just a little teaser for what I have planned. I am going to be mean to EVERYONE. Will this have a happy ending? You'll just have to see won't you?

Please Review!

-Ray


	2. What Happens in Vegas

**A/N:** There is a lot I can about this first real chapter of this story. Really. There is. But you know what? Why don't you just read it?

I don't own _Transformers_.

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1. What Happens in Vegas

The city's lights were blinding upon first glance. Rows of hotels and casinos lined either side of the street, the sidewalks choked with people. The city was Las Vegas. The gambling capital of the world set in a desert of the western United States. People from all over the world flocked to Vegas, putting their money on the line in games of chance in the slim chance that could walk away with more. It was all good fun, but sometimes fun was taken to far and would lead to addiction. One more dollar, one more and then I'm done, but some just don't know when to quit. The city was alive tonight, but it was no different than any other night. After all, Las Vegas was a city that never slept.

Through the hordes of humans there were cars, many nice and expensive, like the silver Pontiac Solstice that moved down the street. The occupant in the driver seat was black, tall and handsome. His clothing was simple, nothing to fancy. His head was shaved. His cheek bones and jaw were strong. He looked like he could have any girl he wanted, but he wasn't interested in human women, though they threw glances his way. His unnatural blue eyes held regret, bitter anger and shame. His tight jaw didn't loosen to smile at any of the females, because he wasn't in the mood to deal with them.

Ever since he came to this planet Jazz was fascinated by humans. Their culture spoke to him and he longed to learn all he could, and in result, becoming the self dubbed human culture specialist and that he was. But do to recent events, gone was the cocky, eager First-Lieutenant that Optimus Prime held so much confidence in. Now he wished he could just blend in and in the past three months he had done just that. He obtained his MHG, or his molecular hologram generator, before the battle in LA. It was now maxed out to a couple of hours since his rendition of blending in involved leaving his true for behind to wander the streets as a human. It was a huge risk, but he just couldn't get himself to care anymore.

So he parked and got out. His body locked down, and his internal sensors came alive and if someone with ill intent got too close he would be able to return to his body in the blink of an eye.

He didn't look back at it as he wandered to the Vegas strip, a destination already in mind. The neon light above the building was in the shape of a woman, scantly clad with voluptuous breasts and a well rounded figure, winking, beckoning stray males into the confines of the building whether they are single or married with two children. This was a place of sin, a lot of people believed. It was sinful entertainment and Jazz knew it. They only Autobot he could ever imagine getting into one of these clubs would be Sideswipe, merely for the energetic twin's love of excitement. Jazz walked right up to the bouncer. The man was much larger than him, height and weight, but as he found out one night, he still had the strength and stamina of a Cybertronian in this form, but the bouncer merely looked down once and let him in without question.

Jazz didn't bother saying anything in thanks as he entered. He was here almost every night, but not for the same reasons the men were. No, he was here for someone else and upon entering the lobby, the blue lights casting merging shadows in the dark he saw her.

Long brown hair fell into smoldering green eyes, long fingers caressing every inch of her pale skin. The silver pole she used fastened to the ceiling and ground was like an extension of herself, spinning around and sliding to the ground, the display made many pitch a tent, but not Jazz. He watched with dull eyes, it was something he had seen before, but he wouldn't deny that the first time he entered the establishment his mouth hit the floor.

The brunette looked up and met his eyes, a look of recognition flittering to her face for a second before she returned to the task at hand, taking a bill from a middle-aged gentleman in the front row with her teeth. Jazz wandered deeper in, waving off the waitresses as they attempted to get him a drink. He couldn't ingest alcohol as far as he knew. These bodies didn't have the same organic functions as the human ones.

He sat in a usual spot, a small table in the corner, watching was the temptress continued to dazzle the crowd with her erotic dancing. Jazz placed his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers under his chin. Periodically, her eyes were drawn to him, but only for a mere heartbeat, but only because she wasn't just dancing for him.

The routine was over and the dancer took her winnings and ventured off stage. It would be about fifteen minutes until the next dancer arrived. Jazz remained seated. Sure enough she emerged from a back door, more clothes on this time, but nothing deemed appropriate. Jazz watched the way her hips moved, something of a second nature to her as she approached his small table. Jazz didn't move to greet her or anything, merely watched in a studying manner. She stood over his table, a smile on her face, her teeth white and perfect.

"Hey there Stranger," she greeted.

"Hello, Candy," he greeted.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"You know the answer to that."

And she did. Placing a delicate hand on his shoulder she pushed him back and straddled his lap. Candy retained that seductive smile, but she didn't move. No this was their ritual. Jazz wasn't about to ask for a lap dance, it did nothing for him anyways, at least physically.

As his eyes remained locked on hers he couldn't deny that she was a very attractive woman. Candy had all the natural assets other woman dreamed of or paid for. As her fingers brushed back and forth the sides of his head and behind his ears, she was close enough to kiss him, but that was against the rules and would more than likely get him banned. He didn't want to imagine never returning because this is who he came to see, but something was different about her tonight. They way she looked into his eyes was very different than the other nights he came to see her.

"What?" he asked.

"I can't get over how beautiful your eyes are," she whispered. "I've never seen a man with such blue eyes."

Jazz allowed himself a grin. "I'm not normal."

"No," she said softly. "No, you're not."

Jazz frowned. She was really behaving oddly tonight and it was unnerving. He knew damn well that stripers were tough chicks. They knew how to handle themselves and for the most part, the men that tried to get a little more physical always regretted it. Candy merely smiled at the confused look on his face and started moving, her hips rotating over him.

Jazz immediately grabbed her arm to stay her. "No."

"Let me," she whispered. "You come in almost every night looking like you could use a little something and you always say no. This one's on the house."

Jazz still looked determined to resist.

Candy leaned in close, her lips dusty against his ear, and despite himself and very much to his surprise, he shudder. "Let it go."

It took a few seconds of processing time, seeming like eons, but Jazz's hand released her thin arm, dropping limply at his side. Candy leaned back and smiled gracefully placing her hands on his shoulders and started to move again, rolling her body in seductive waves and Jazz found himself enthralled by it, escaping the hard memories of his death and resurrection on her creamy skin and gentle movements. Megatron was nonexistent at the moment as well as his fellow Autobots. All he could focus on was her and all that mattered was her. He had been offered this escape many times before and never took it, but now he had.

Candy's hand trailed down his chest to the bottom of his shirt, lifting it slightly and letting her fingers tickled the dark skin that lay there. Muscles in his stomach tightened as he inhaled sharply, a reaction Jazz had never experienced. He felt warm all of a sudden, but he ignored it. Normally he could've turn on his internal cooling system, but he wasn't in that body right now was he? No, he was 'human' right now and he was experiencing human feelings physical and internal. Candy smiled like she had just given him a heavenly gift that he longed to have for years.

Jazz looked away from her body to her face meeting her eyes again. Candy's smile fell and a look of contemplation overtook her. Hands grasping the back of his head she didn't seem to think of the consequences when she kissed him, her lips a feather over his. Jazz easily melted into the gesture like he had done it before, his knowledge of the affectionate act present. Fingers in her hair, he took the kiss to a whole knew level, but it was not to last.

In a flash, Candy realized what she had done and reared back in shock and horror. Jazz too realized and both immediately started to see who saw, but no one seemed to be looking. Candy crawled off his lap, stumbling slightly as she did so.

"I-I have go," she said. "I'll see you around, Stranger."

Jazz didn't get to say a word before she was tearing off for the backroom. He straightened his clothes as he sat up contemplating what had just transpired. He kissed a human. He used an entirely human gesture. With the moment gone the memories flooded back and he dismissed the euphoria for self-loathing once again.

He felt the angry eyes burning holes into his back, but he didn't turn around even as a fat human male walked around and sat across from him, two large goons on either side of him like loyal pit bulls. The man was wrinkled and hard looking, like he had given many people cement shoes in the past. Jazz wasn't intimidated. He could wipe the floor with all three of them and Prime's rule about not harming humans would not apply in this case if they attacked him first.

The owner of the establishment leaned forward on his elbows staring at Jazz in foreshadowing interest. "We have a problem mister…"

Jazz didn't answer. They didn't need to know his name.

"Silent type, eh?" the man mocked. "That's good, because I don't want you to talk. You're going to walk out that door and never walk you sorry hide back in here _ever_. You are banned from my house and if you do come back Candy is going to be the one to pay for it."

Jazz's eyes flashed dangerously as they narrowed. Autobots weren't prone to attack first in non-battle situations. They weren't supposed to harm humans, either. Those were Optimus' rules. But Optimus wasn't here, was he? So when Jazz's fist flew across the table and he didn't regret it. He was on a short thread already and threatening the only person he had contact with at the moment just cut it.

The fat man went reeling back, blood spurting from his nose. Jazz really wasn't considering the repercussions of his actions, until the two goons whipped out shiny pieces of metal that could very well end his existence in the form if they targeted the small portion of his spark in the center of his chest. The pulsing music was too loud, it was too dark even with the strobe lights and the customers were far too intoxicated to notice the Glocks trained on their fellow patron.

As the fat man got up, cursing, he ordered Jazz to be thrown out, but not without a beating first. Jazz was taken out back and beaten to a pulp. It was dark so the two men couldn't see that Jazz wasn't actually bleeding or getting black eyes and what not, because a creature with no blood can't bleed, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less. Jazz was left in a crumpled heap on the ground to drag himself away. Times had changed and while it would've been considered easy to kill a beaten 'man', it would look suspicious.

Jazz pushed himself over onto his back his body aching terribly and the pain wouldn't be lessened when he was back to her real body. He was about to fade out of existence when the door opened again. Did they change their minds? Were they coming to finish him off?

But the hands that touched his face weren't hard. They were soft and delicate, a woman's hands and when he opened his eyes his eyes were able to see in the dark. It was Candy, looking distraught and concerned. For who, him? She didn't need to worry about him. He had known what he was doing when he hit the owner in the face and when he didn't fight back against the beating.

Candy didn't seem to care that there was no blood or swelling because she could still tell that he was hurt. Over the past three months he had come in to the club and wanted to see no one but her. The tenant allowed it because Jazz paid good money, but what he didn't know was that Jazz often hacked the machines at the casino to rig his winnings.

But Jazz never took anything from Candy. She was willing to do anything he wanted for a certain price, as long as it was not a documented pleasure, but he merely wanted to talk. He chose her by random. She was on stage and he just wanted to see her. Neither had no idea what it was going to lead up to, mostly becoming each other's confidant. Jazz talked to her and one night she found herself talking back and actually they developed a dysfunctional friendship.

"Candy!" a familiar voice shouted. "Get back in here!"

Candy's hands never left Jazz's face and she looked over her shoulder at the man. The man could very well kill her, but Jazz heard her take a deep breath, hands shaking. "No."

"What was that?"

"I quit, Donnie. I'm done."

Fast footsteps strode forward as the owner drew closer. "You're done when I say you're done!" he bellowed. He grabbed Candy by her chocolate hair, yanking her forcibly back. She couldn't stop the cry that tore from her throat. "Get back in there!"

Jazz was on his feet in a second, ready to intervene, but he currently had Candy in a choke hold, dragging her back to the club. Stalking forward, Jazz followed, hands in tight fists. He wasn't thinking, merely acting on what his spark felt and that was hate for this disgusting human. Donnie pulled out an expensive hand gun, custom made apparently, and pointed it at Jazz. Even Candy stopped struggling at this, but Jazz, however, continued to walk menacingly toward him. He moved fast as Donnie tossed Candy aside to shoot him, but Jazz grabbed the beefy writs and pushed it into the air as the gun went off. People nearby screamed and cell phones were wiped out to call the police. Candy watched from the ground as the two struggled and called out when Donnie's bodyguards showed up.

Jazz noticed as well and spun Donnie around, aiming his wrist the way he wanted, shooting the two men in less fatal areas, merely to bring them down. Jazz made a tight fist and struck the bastard across the face, knocking him unconscious next to his wounded men.

Candy got up and went over to him. True to her denying her boss the pleasure of returning to work she had a duffle bag on the ground with all the belongings he assumed from her locker. No doubt that someone heard the gunshots, so wordlessly, Jazz held out his hand to her. He wasn't sure what he was doing still but he was merely following his instinct. Candy smiled slightly and took his hand.

"Thanks, Stranger," she said.

"Jazz."

"Huh?"

He grinned at her, the first real one she had ever seen. "My name is Jazz."

"Jazz," she smiled, tasting the name on her tongue. "Well, Jazz, than. You can call me Beth."

He nodded and started pulling her out from behind the building to the street, avoiding the crowds through the back alleys. The sirens could be heard fast approaching, but Jazz's scans were keeping them one step ahead. Candy aka Beth followed without question until they came upon a familiar Pontiac Solstice. She was slightly surprised by the expensive car, but got in anyways when the door was opened for her. Jazz got in as well, firing up the engine and pulled out onto the street, driving slow as if not to attract attention.

"We can go to my place," she said. "I'm hardly there anyways they won't check there first."

Jazz nodded again and followed her directions. It was a decent apartment building, but Jazz wouldn't know what the inside would look like because according to his calculations he was running out of time on the MHG and getting beaten didn't help much. Both climbed out but as Beth headed for the stairs Jazz stayed by the car.

"Well, are you coming?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I'll stay out hear and keep watch."

She frowned, but accepted it. There was cearly something else on her mind. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," Jazz admitted.

Beth walked forward towards him dropped her duffle bag at the front of the car. Leaning against the car she ran a finger along it ignorantly as Jazz felt a small tingle. "Donnie's gonna come after us. Me for quitting and you for shooting Ron and Mitch and punching him twice, one, of which, knocked him unconscious."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be. Donnie knows people. He could have you killed."

Jazz looked down at the woman hard. "What about you? Will he kill you too?"

Beth's lips took on a bitter smile. "Probably."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, I can probably only stay here for the night. Maybe I'll catch a flight to Mexico or something. What about you?"

Jazz shook his head. "I'm not running."

"Then why are you in Vegas in the first place?" Jazz looked surprised by the question and his head snapped up to look at her. Beth seemed to be all knowing as she took another step closer to him. "I've seen all kinds of men come into Donnie's. They all have different stories, but you…Your's is the story you're running from."

"How can you tell?"

Beth laughed. "In my occupation, it's all about learning about the customer. What he wants, why he wants it. You may think you're mysterious and hard to read, but, honestly, it was kind of easy."

Jazz laughed as well shaking his head. Beth was happy to see him genuinely happy about something even if it was a little thing. She stepped even closer her body flush against his. Jazz's smile dropped into a serious expression and Beth was captivated by his eyes again. But before she could make her move, Jazz made his instead taking her lips in a passionate kiss, feeling things from a different perspective, a human perspective, and it was addicting.

Beth's arms wound around his neck holding him as tightly as he did her as she was sandwiched between the MHG and Jazz's real body. Jazz's hands kneaded the flesh of her thighs, swallowing her moan. Her body was warm, alive and so much more different from the femmes of his planet. Not that there was anything wrong with them. Human females were just so different and this was just so new.

She pressed her hips forward, enticing that part of anatomy human men had, but since he wasn't human it wasn't supposed to react so to say he was surprised when it _did_ was an understatement. Jazz's eyes snapped open, shock apparent, more emotion than Beth had ever seen in three months. Jazz felt a trickle of sweat slid down the back of his neck and his shock increasing.

"Come up with me," she whispered breathlessly.

Jazz realized that this had gone a little too far and something was happening to him that wasn't physically possible. "No," he said. "I need to watch to make sure your former employer doesn't come here looking for you. I'll be here when you wake up."

Beth didn't hide her disappointment. Lips pursed together she nodded and walked away, not exchanging goodbyes as she head upstairs. It wasn't that she was ungrateful, she was just a little embarrassed.

Jazz waited until his scanners indicated that she was inside before his holoform released a breath. He grasped the back of his next, feeling the moisture that lay there. He wasn't supposed to sweat. He looked down at his crotch. _That_ was something new as well. He wasn't a real human and yet he was displaying human behavior and there was no doubt in his processor that he really wanted to follow Beth upstairs with all that it entailed.

To reassure himself that he was still autonomous he allowed his MHG to fizzle out of existence and return to his true from. He welcomed the familiar feeling of being himself again, an inorganic organism that couldn't possibly be with, in any shape or form, an organic one.

How could that have been possible though? Of course the only one that could answer that question was Hound and he was in Tranquility and Jazz wasn't about to return to his comrades now. He still needed time away from them, to conquer his fear he supposed, but in reality he knew the truth. He was ashamed of himself, so ashamed that he didn't think he deserved the titled of Autobot. Starscream saved his aft that day. It's a sad day when your enemy risks his life for your own, whether or not that said enemy had a change of spark.

Beth was right. He was running and as time wore on he was failing miserably.

Falling into an unpleasant stasis he kept his scanner open for Donnie and his henchmen. It was going to be a long night.

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**A/N: **Yep. Jazz got a lap dance. I hope this chapter explains why Jazz left and is being angsty. I wrote this chapter before the Preface, but I decided to postpone this and maybe play around with it a little before posting it. I played around with it A LOT actually so that's why it took so long. I hope you liked it. I thought it was pretty dark lol, but I still had fun writing it. Thanks for reading!

Please Review!


	3. Control

**A/N:** Sorry about the wait for this, if any of you are even still there. School has always kept me busy and now I'm trying to get an internship. I love writing fanfiction, but school comes first. I wanted to post this last night, but, heh, I got into a car accident. I'm fine, just sore from whiplash. My car....not so fine. I feel very fortunate that no one was injured, b/c it could have been a lot worse. But it was my dinky little Ford Contour versus a pick up truck. I lost.

So anyways, there are my excuses. Hopefully you guys can forgive me. I will update as often as I can but like I said, I'm very busy with my future...and all that junk. So I hope you guess enjoy this chapter. Sorry for any grammar mistakes I may have missed and thanks to **ikldmrogers** for editing for me! I hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: I don't _Transformers_.

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2. Control

Peyton woke with a start, sweat thickly condensed on her forehead, neck, and back. Her mouth was as dry as the Nevada desert; almost as if it was stuck with cotton, and her lips were in dire need of chapstick. She looked around the dark room, her brown eyes only confused for a moment before she remembered. She was still at the LA base with Optimus. Everything she had just dreamed was real. The fact that every time she had this dream she woke up unsure of her whereabouts was really starting to irritate her.

She sat up slowly, looking over her shoulder at the alarm clock on the stand next to her bed. It was early, four in the morning, but all she had been doing for the first couple of weeks after the battle was laying around and sleeping. She ran a hand through her blond hair, still unused to how short it really was, going from just under her shoulders to her chin, hardly enough for a ponytail. Overall, the change was nice and got a few surprised comments.

Pushing the blankets off, she revealed a simple cotton white tank top and sweats, her style of choice over the past couple of months. Placing her feet on the ground she rested her elbows on her knees, dropping her head by relaxing her neck. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath on a slow inhale and slow exhale. Practically everyone was still sleeping and the night guards wouldn't bother her because of her associations, so it wouldn't be that big of a deal to take a quick run around the base. There was only one person she really had to worry about and she was pretty good at avoiding him.

She grabbed a pair of running shoes and pulled them onto her feet, leaving her room quickly to get outside. She scanned the area, seeing no one, not even a certain Autobot commander. With the coast clear she started her jog, taking her usual route.

She really didn't have to worry about a curfew or anything. She pretty much had free reign like the other contacts as long as she stayed out of the certain areas she wasn't authorized to enter. Optimus had been very clear that she was not allowed to get too involved with anything associated with the Decepticons or Operation: Ararat. Operation: Ararat, the name of the mountain Noah's Ark was said to land after the Great Flood, was named as such because it was the plan to land the Autobots' main battle ship, called the Ark, in an isolated, secure location that civilians would not be able to find easily. And Peyton wasn't allowed to be apart of any of it because of her 'delicate condition.'

She was pissed. She didn't want everyone to think she was weak, but she had to face it. With _his_ death so clear in her mind she really wasn't able to focus on anything else, always looking back on what could've, might've, would've been. She never felt so out of control of her own life before.

Legs pumping and lungs burning she pushed herself hard, taking refuge in the adrenaline circulating through her body. She wasn't an exercise freak, in fact, she would even consider herself lazy, but this was distracting, therefore making it necessary.

But before she realized it, she was at a certain location in which she wasn't a fan of, yet came to often enough. She slowed to a stop before the infamous spot on the concrete. Panting and wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand she knelt down. The smear of human blood that had stained the ground had already been washed away, but that didn't mean she didn't see it in her mind and the person it had belonged to. She pressed her hand to the ground. The concrete wasn't cold, but it wasn't hot. It was a normal temperature. She could remember exactly what had happened here as if her mind had recorded it like a video camera.

"I thought you might be here."

The owner of that authoritative voice was as tall as a two story house with thunderously loud footsteps. You knew you had issues if he managed to sneak up on you.

But Peyton still didn't look up at the one she had been dodging. "Hey, Optimus."

Optimus Prime allowed himself a sad expression as he looked down at his human companion. The sadness was rolling off her in waves along with the determination of aloofness in her attempt to seem strong. She may have been able to fool some, but he and a majority of her new friends hadn't bought it. Upon sending Carter back to Vegas she got onslaught of calls from Jeffery, her mother, Patricia Callaghan, as well as Carter's family. Ironhide had driven Peyton to the funeral while Optimus was forced to monitor from a distance for protection purposes. Riding up in a semi would've drawn too much attention.

As soon as it was over, Peyton left. They met up with Optimus and she switched rides, sitting in silent despair for the ride back. She hadn't even cried. Carter's family, having assumed that Peyton would be the one he would've married, didn't understand her cold demeanor and scorned her for it—turning her into the scapegoat for their grief. Peyton played it off, but Optimus was very much aware of how she truly felt about it. To be ridiculed by everyone you knew, with only a few individuals understanding the true situation was hard. Even Peyton's mother approached her on her stoic behavior.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Peyton answered quickly. The woman stood up and faced him, painted smile plastered. "Alls things considered, anyways."

"You've been avoiding me."

"Yeah."

That wasn't the reply he wanted, but he took it in stride and ventured closer, kneeling before her, his optics bright with his understanding. "I know that this is a difficult time for you and I'm proud of how far you've come, but I do not believe that Carter would like to see you blaming yourself for what happened."

Peyton scoffed aggressively. "Oh, so you're a 'Carter expert' now?"

"I did not mean it like that." He sighed. "You knew him. What do you think Carter would say to you if he could see you now?"

Peyton only glared, but her eyes softened a little. "He'd be mad at me." Then she shook her head. "But how is it not my fault? Frenzy was trying to kill me, not him, and he died."

"Carter made his choice. He wanted to save you," Optimus stated. "He put his life on the line for you, not because of you."

Peyton's eyes became distant as similar words assaulted her memory. _"I'm leaving for you, not because of you. I don't deserve to be in Vegas working with you or Jeffery. I don't deserve you, but I just wanted to see you one more time before I left, you know? And I have. I do love you, Peyton, whether or not you believe it."_

"So," Peyton whispered softly, "am I just supposed to accept that? So he died for me. Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Optimus shook his head regrettably. "No," he answered. His tone was stern rather than sympathetic. "Nothing is going to change that fact, but you should place yourself in his position. What he wanted was for you to live and he gave you all that he could. Why would you waste such a gift?"

Peyton nodded in mock understanding. "So what you're saying is that I should stop moping and get over it?"

Optimus frowned deeply, his expression depicting frustration and even anger. "If you insist on twisting my words into something callus rather that helpful, then that's your prerogative. I'm trying to help you, Peyton, so do yourself a favor and stop focusing on the negative meaning of what I say. You're doing yourself more harm than good and pushing me away is not going to help."

Peyton flinched. She felt bad for making him angry, but it wasn't something she was willing to admit to at the present time so she turned her back on him and strode away. Optimus expected as much since the woman had been intent on avoiding him. No doubt she wasn't in a very receptive mood. Hearing the things she _needed_ to hear didn't mean she _wanted_ to.

Standing tall, he let her go. Hopefully sooner than later she would see the light and return to being the woman he had met almost four months ago. The brave, rash, and intelligent crime scene investigator, who had turned him down at first, but changed her mind having been swayed by her morals and by some startling insight from Sideswipe. That person was still there, but no one but Peyton could bring her back.

* * *

It was later in the morning, around eight when Jason's dark eyes glanced upwards stoically, merely to conceal the festering worry that had been building up over the past couple of months. Ratchet was sitting beside him, a faraway look on his face. When the medic had requested some time away from the base Jason hadn't hesitated when he recognized the same exhausted look he had displayed not too long ago. The only logical answer to Ratchet's behavior was the Decepticons.

Everyone knew about Ratchet's six-sense, so to speak. They all knew that he was able to sense the movements of other Cybertronians, but ever since the destruction of the Cube Ratchet had only been aware of the Autobots. The Decepticons were off his radar and he didn't have time to contemplate why between getting settled on Earth up to the event of Sam's kidnapping. It was when Megatron was revived that Ratchet was able to pick the Decepticons back up again. He wasn't able to explain the hiccup in his ability or why it returned along with Megatron given that there was no evidence of a correlation.

Ratchet admitted that it only had been a slight tingle at first. An omniscient knowing, but eventually the sense developed, rather rapidly and Ratchet was like receiver, getting a bunch of signals from every which way, enough to cause throbbing ache in his processor at least once a day, almost like a chronic headache that would sometimes escalate into a full blown migraine. Having been blind to the Decepticons after Megatron's defeat in Mission City, the sudden onslaught of sensation was beginning to take its toll on him.

Ratchet was distancing himself from everyone, except Jason. He avoided contact with his comrades as much as possible without alarming them, because being around them was just too much strain on his processor. It didn't help that he was getting exceedingly frustrated with the fact that his ability was more powerful in one sense and so limited in another. His awareness of other Cybertronians had increased beyond Ratchet's comprehension at first, but he was having difficulty tracking their movements. From what Jason understood, all that Ratchet was picking up now were various emotions radiating from others.

Ratchet had wanted to leave the base for a while, but at the same time didn't want to leave his comrades hanging. The Decepticons were icing on the cake when it came to the sensations he was receiving, but at least he could get away from part of the problem for a little while. Thankfully, Optimus trusted Ratchet enough not of pry any answers from him, though it was no surprise that the leader did expect an explanation eventually.

He had left the hanger quickly, trying not to look suspicious in front of the others, but failed miserably. Optimus's all knowing optics had analyzed his soldier silently and provided and ample distraction to keep Ironhide or Sideswipe from asking too many questions.

Ratchet had located him the med-bay and popped the question; "Will you come with me, please? I believe it's high time we took a break from this place."

Jason noticed the distress in Ratchet's voice, despite his attempt at covering it up like it was a casual conversation. It wasn't all that obvious to anybody who didn't know him. So Jason had agreed and Ratchet transformed into his alternate form and opened the driver side door, a silent indication that he would not be using his Molecular Hologram Generator, and invention created by Hound to enhance the human experience by, in summary, giving the Autobots human-like bodies. He hadn't waited for Jason to put his seatbelt on before he was making a moderately fast break for the exit, pulling the belt securely across the young doctor's chest himself.

Now Jason was staring down his stretched legs to his feet. Ratchet was utterly silent, probably trying to relish in the little peace he was able to get. The sun was setting on another tedious day in their lives, yet still dull with the lack of action. Ratchet, once sure that no unsuspecting humans would stumble upon them, sat in his true form, optics on the sunset. Jason could see that the mech was trying to relax and epically failing at it.

"You wanna let me in on what's bothering you?"

The question had been simple enough. It was a friend concerned for another friend. Jason could remember it all too clearly the situation he had gotten himself in, what he risked his career and life for. Though there was a major difference. Ratchet wasn't taking drugs to cope with his problem. Jason remembered how he had pushed people away, including Ratchet, not accepting help when he wanted it, when he needed it, and chose to suffer in silence. So, yes, Jason felt like a hypocrite trying to pry some answers out of Ratchet, which is why he was slightly hesitant. But Jason would be damned before he let Ratchet do something stupid like he had done, no matter what it might be.

"Are you going to tell me?" Jason asked again.

"I already told you."

"Not everything. I figured out a lot of it on my own. I know that there's more to it."

"Enjoying the change in perspective?" Ratchet asked softly, the undertone utterly mocking.

Jason didn't so much as flinch at the question. "No, I'm not. I knew you were going to say something like that. Is there anything else you'd like to get off your chest before we move on?"

Ratchet didn't say anything else.

"Alright, since you brought it up," the human began, "let's use me as the example. What I did was stupid, reckless, illegal and dangerous and not only to me. I could've destroyed my career. I could've killed someone. I operated on Maggie using that stuff. No on regrets it more than I do, believe me." Jason looked at him dead on, no longer averting his gaze elsewhere. "I didn't talk when I should have. I let things build up and everyone saw what happened. Is that what you want to do?"

Ratchet was silent again.

"Goddamn it, Ratchet!" he yelled. "Will you please talk to me?"

"And say what?"

"What the hell is wrong? Your head is getting overwhelmed by the emotions you are picking up from the Autobots and the Decepticons. You're frustrated because you can't track them down like you used to. But I know that's not everything. I know there's more."

"What else could there be?"

"I don't know! But I'm not the only one that's noticed. Optimus knows some things wrong too."

Ratchet's optics were scathing. "And did you discuss this with him?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't talk about you behind your back. I just know I'm not the only one who notices something's up."

Ratchet sighed. "Is it so wrong to get away from the base? With all the preparation for confrontations with the Decepticons and getting the Ark to remain on course it's a madhouse in there. I was getting…what's the term…cabin fever."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to trust me."

"Oh, I do," Jason defended tonelessly. "I trust you with my life. But you know what I don't trust? I don't trust you with you."

Ratchet's optics rolled irritably and he looked down at his ward. "That makes no sense."

"Yes it does," came the quick reply. "You look after everyone; the Autobots, humans on the base and you fight to protect this planet. But when it comes to taking care of yourself you don't give a rat's ass."

Ratchet frowned, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "I never knew you were so prone to cursing."

"Don't change the subject. You know I'm right."

"Then perhaps that is why we get along so well."

Jason paused and smiled ever so slightly. "Probably. We're both workaholics and would work ourselves to death if someone didn't step in."

"I stepped in for you."

"And I'm going to step in for you," Jason said determinedly. "Now what's really bothering you?"

"I'm sensing an attack."

"Does Optimus know?"

"He does."

"What do you think?"

"They're moving east. I can't detect if they have an exact location in mind. They are merely trying to stay under the radar."

"That seems kind of difficult considering how big you guys are."

"Never underestimate our ability to adapt to opposition. And Soundwave and Shockwave have more than likely developed some sort of cloaking technology. I cannot read their minds, only receive feelings, impulses and what I do know is that they are headed towards more densely populated areas."

Jason frowned thoughtfully. "How do they expect to hide on the East Coast? Sorry, buddy, but no matter how good you guys are at hiding in plain sight, if they set foot in someplace like New York they're going to get caught."

"I do not believe that they are going to go that far east," Ratchet said grimly.

Jason thought for a moment, before his eyes widened in horrified realization. "Oh, God."

"Optimus has alerted the White House of a possible attack and the President will be moved along with his cabinet and their families. It would seem that our secrecy isn't going to last much longer. If the Decepticons are planning an attack on the President of the United States I would only assume that they would attack other world leaders as well."

Jason leapt to his feet in frustration, pacing rapidly. "And what if one of these world leaders decides to nuke the bastards, huh? They may not react to this the same way we did. How are we supposed to smooth this over with them? They're going to be pissed that they weren't alerted of you guys in the first place. I mean, they had to have been suspicious after Mission City, but with all this possible threats of terrorism it wasn't as hard as it could have been to cover it up. How are we going to explain ourselves to the whole world?"

"Through diplomacy," Ratchet said simply. "No one can change what the US government decided once the battle was over in Mission. The government was under pressure and they had to make fast decisions. Allying the world against a common enemy may force the Decepticons to leave and perhaps we can take this war to another, preferably, barren planet."

Jason ran a hand through his hair, taking a relaxing breath. "Alright. So, the President is evacuated and say we alert the rest of the world about you guys. What then? What do you think the Decepticons would do?"

"They will either leave or they will attack full on. Understand Jason," Ratchet said warningly, "there have always been more Decepticons than Autobots. The Decepticons that you have seen don't even count for a fraction of their forces, not to mention the drones, that I have no doubt, Megatron will send for from Cybertron."

"Drones?"

"Sparkless machines used for battle. Both the Autobots and Decepticons have used them for their own purposes, but as resources were depleted from Cybertron their production was halted. There is only a set amount that remains functioning and while that amount is still very high, most are controlled by Megatron."

Jason rubbed his eyes. "Great."

Ratchet sighed. "That last battle we had was the beginnings of a whole new kind of war. Instead of it just being Autobots against Decepticons, we have involved another species, one, that had done nothing but be on the unlucky planet the All Spark happen to crash on so long ago." He looked down at the young doctor. "Your government would be right in informing UN of what has happened. It's the world's right to know."

"I know that," Jason agreed. "I also know that if we thought shit the fan already, we were sadly mistaken."

"Perhaps I am mistaken into thinking that Megatron would risk an attack that would expose us entirely," said Ratchet thoughtfully to the sky. "Though it's better to be safe than sorry."

Jason nodded. "Right. Is that all that's been bothering you?"

Ratchet's optics shifted downward curiously. "Partly."

"You wanna elaborate?"

"Not really."

Jason sighed. "You are the most difficult person I have ever met."

Ratchet grinned wearily. "Ditto."

After a moment, Jason rubbed his eyes. Walking around the massive mech he stopped directly at his feet. "Don't make me beg."

"I'd like to see that."

"You would."

"I gave you the main cause of my recent behavior. Leave it at that, Jason. We have much more important things to be worried about."

Jason grunted. "You got that right." He looked up determinedly. "This isn't over."

Ratchet only nodded, simply acknowledging Jason's challenge. No, it wasn't over yet. It wasn't over until Ratchet figured out a way to block everything out. Until then he'd keep getting the severe headaches, for lack of a better term, since his kind didn't have organic minds and therefore were not subject to the headaches like organically based organisms were. And as the two sat in silence until the sun had nearly set it took every ounce of will power Ratchet had not to give any indication that he was in pain.

* * *

Sam was staring at his hands. He did that a lot lately. The marks had become more defined over time. The rose from his skin in ridges and while originally only remaining on the palms of his hands, they now circled to the back of his hand, extending from the ends of his fingers to his wrists. Everyday they seemed to be stretching further and further up his skin. He wondered if they would cover his entire body at some point. But for now, he wore gloves over his hands.

His excuse at school was horrible burns, which wasn't entirely untrue, since it was the Cube that gave the marks to him, but the gloves were also laced with the same material that made up the Autobots as well as a few nameless materials that Sam couldn't even pronounce. This helped keep his power under control and keep him from destroying anything. But even his gloves had limits and Ratchet warned him that if he ever began too angry and lost control, the gloves wouldn't be able to hold all the energy in.

So far, many believed him to be taking the fact that he was now a human rendition of the All Spark very well. When the Cube was destroyed, most of its power went into destroying Megatron, but there was that fraction that was transferred to him. Power like that of the All Spark just couldn't disappear like that. So he only had a small portion, but it was still enough to revive two Cybertronians, Megatron and Jazz, and be manipulated into a weapon. Sam didn't really understand why he seemed to be taking it all in stride so well either, but he knew that it worried his friends very much, especially his parents and Optimus.

For some reason, it seemed natural now. Sure, at first, he had been scared as hell, but now, if he were to wake up without it, he would be more freaked out than he was when he first used it on Trent. It was a comforting feeling. He didn't tell anyone this, though one would think he would have learned about keeping secrets from his friends given what happened the last time he did. Both Bumblebee and Mikaela, the two he was surrounded with the most, both suspected something, but they never asked. He appreciated their respect for his remote level of privacy.

Bumblebee noticed more than anyone, and that had to do with the fact that the bond that was created over time, as well as the healing process that Sam had done when Bumblebee had nearly be scrapped by Megatron when trying to rescue him. Sam also shared a small bond with Jazz and, unfortunately, Megatron since he had brought them back to life. They were getting increasingly weaker on both ends with the distance that was between them. Jazz had gone MIA and Megatron was currently on the move east to God knows where. The latter bond was one that still gave Sam nightmares.

The youngest of the Autobots, still considered a kid but their standards, was currently sitting in his true form, his bright optics occasionally shifted downward towards him. They were in a secure location, away from civilization and hardly anyone ever came out here, but Bee had his scanners up just incase. Bumblebee wasn't saying anything and for good reason. The last time Bee had pushed for too much information they had an argument. It was short and not very heated, but with the connection they now shared it was easy to figure out what the other was thinking; especially now since their minds could literally link together like a radio and they could communicate that way, just as if Sam were a mech as well.

Sam didn't want Bee to worry, but Bee worried anyways. When their connection, mentally, was first realized Sam had panicked and thought he was going insane. It had taken Mikaela and Ratchet to calm him down and Bee had to keep his distance in order not to hurt him by accident until Sam could learn to turn down the volume, so to speak. Thankfully, Bumblebee was the only one that Sam was able to do this with and that meant he didn't have to be so guarded around the others.

Sam pulled his gloves on. They looked like regular, simple black gloves. The material was limp and smooth, but they were heavy and weighed almost five pounds each. Sam hardly noticed nowadays. He flexed his fingers, somewhat satisfied that they no longer hurt like they used to. Now, it was only when he was angry and upset and had to release pent up energy, but other than times of emotional stress his hands were dormant.

"I wonder if I could bring some of Earth's technology to life like the Cube could," he mused. "I mean, in Mission City I saw a soda machine and an X-Box 360 come to life and I think the there was an Escalade too, but it was only the steering wheel."

Bumblebee turned his head fully. "And why didn't you mention this before?"

Sam shrugged helplessly as he peered up at his guardian. "Well, I kind of forgot. I was busy running for my life, remember?"

"Were they hostile?"

Sam frowned as he recalled the incident. "In a way. They scared some people and just ran away."

"_Cause I want it all!"_

"That's all they did, honest."

"They didn't hurt anyone?"

"I don't think so. They looked like, well, like they were scared and only wanted to get out of there. I'm not sure though. I just started running again. But we haven't heard of any weird things with soda machines and whatnot."

Bumblebee shook his head. "Well, we'll have to be on the lookout from now on. They are rogue creations of the All Spark. They are unpredictable and dangerous."

"Sorry," Sam muttered.

Bumblebee frowned. He didn't want his ward to feel anymore pressure and stress than he was already. "Don't worry about it. If they haven't been causing any trouble perhaps they are somewhat civilized or maybe they have deactivated."

Sam grinned a little. "It must be nice to finally have your voice back."

Bumblebee nodded, his optics lighting up in a smile. "It's nice to have it back without any discomfort," came the reply in a soft British accent. "But I also like to use the radio. I've become accustom to it since I used it for so long."

Sam concentrated and reached out with his mind. **"And this is pretty cool,"** he said. **"Even if it freaked me out in the beginning, it comes in handy."**

Bumblebee sent out his own transmission back to the boy. **"Especially when we want to talk about people behind their backs."**

"**That was Glen's idea, not mine."**

"Ratchet was impressed," Bee said aloud. "He didn't think that the All Spark's power would regenerate so quickly in a human body."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe I'm just lucky."

"You don't like it, do you?"

Sam shook his head with a small smile. "It's more like I'm used to it now. I can't remember what it was like not to have it, only that I was weak and pathetic. Do I like it? If these marks keep on spreading I don't know how I'm going to show my face in public again. I don't like that Simmons is breathing down my neck and the only thing that is standing in his way between me and him is Optimus. I don't like that I could easily hurt the people I care about, especially Mikaela. I can't believe how hard it is for me to stay in control of myself around her."

"Do you fear you will hurt her?"

"Yeah, but not in the way of turning the energy into a weapon and vaporizing her."

"Then how?"

Sam's face reddened a little. "I get a little caught up in the moment, if you know what I mean."

Bumblebee paused briefly. "Oh! You mean when you are having sex."

Sam rubbed his eyes wearily. "Subtle, Bee. Real subtle."

"Do you want to talk to Ratchet about it?"

"No. Not right now."

"Need I remind you of the last time you kept secrets from us?" Bee replied.

Sam remembered all too well what it led to. It led him to getting kidnapped and forced into reviving Megatron. That could have been possibly avoided if her had come clean, but he let fear hold him back. Now they had a whole new slew of problems varying from the elusive Decepticons and their jamming frequencies, keeping the existence of the NBEs a secret from the world, and his powers and being All Spark 2.0 among other things. Not to mention relationship issues.

Since he had been more intone to the Autobots and Decepticons he had been able to sense, on varying levels, emotions and tenors of their processors, depending on how close they were. Meaning, he wasn't blind as too what Sunstreaker was currently feeling for his contact, but for respectful reasons, he kept his mouth shut. It also allowed him to be sure that Starscream was telling the truth when he offered his services to the Autobots without exactly becoming one. The former Decepticon seeker had a lot of animosity towards Megatron and had no intent at the present time to return to his side.

He left like a psychic for alien robots and, in all honesty, it gave him a headache.

"I'll talk to Ratchet," Sam relented heavily. "He better not broadcast it though. I want patient-doctor privilege and Ratchet can't keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it."

"I'm sure he would if you said how much secrecy meant to you," Bumblebee said lightly. "I don't think he'd blab to the entire base."

Sam looked up skeptically.

"Okay, he might, but it wouldn't be with bad intentions."

"I know," Sam said. "But it doesn't mean I'd appreciate it."

"Just explain the situation. He'll understand."

But Sam was still hesitant. It wasn't just his pride and humility on the line. He knew that Ratchet was dealing with something of his own predicament right now. Sam didn't want to put anymore pressure on the medic than already existed. Sam couldn't be sure of what was happening, but what he was sensing was enormous amounts of stress, desperation, and even paranoia. Still, Sam agreed because Ratchet was the most qualified to help him.

"Good," Bumblebee said with a firm nod. "And I think you should also speak with Mikaela on this. She has a right to know."

"But it's embarrassing," Sam complained.

"Risking her safety is embarrassing?"

Well, when you put it like that…

Sam had been rather standoffish towards Mikaela lately, with no real viable excuse for his behavior. His moods were up and down, sometimes perfectly normal and then like this, where his had a massive headache and his mind was plagued with horrors of what could possibly happen, what was happening, and what had happened. At first, he worried that he had become mentally ill, more than likely bipolar, but Ratchet cleared him out in one of his regular scans for health that he preformed on all the humans, more than regular on him and Peyton. The woman he had come to respect seemed to be a shell of her former self.

His behavior towards Mikaela had sent her into worry as well. She felt helpless as she watched her boyfriend's mood swings and was there when he woke up from a nightmare and saw how the lack of sleep was taking its toll on him. He owed her answers.

He needed her. Mikaela was a reason he got up in the morning. She was a major reason why he kept on living. So maybe he was eighteen years old, a little young to feel so strongly, but he knew that there was no one else. Mikaela was it. Whether or not she felt the same, there would be one else after her. If she left him, he'd accept it. He'd be ruined, but he wanted her happiness more than anything. Right now, he really wanted to see her more than anything.

"Can you take me to Mikaela's? I need to talk to her."

Bumblebee nodded once, his optics softening in understanding. "Sure thing."

Sam stepped back and allowed Bumblebee to transform. Climbing into the passenger seat, Bee activated his MHG in the driver's seat. The molecular hologram generator had chosen the appearance of an eighteen year old boy with spiky blond hair. The bright blue eyes remained, like with all the Autobots, and it was the only indication that Bumblebee wasn't human. He wore a black and yellow biker jacket and a black shirt and dark blue jeans.

Sam slouched in his seat and massaged his temple with a gloved hand. Bee frowned. Sam was a child. No matter how old he got, Sam would always be so young compared to him. The fact that Sam would probably only live to eighty years considering the healthiness of his lifestyle made Bee's spark ache. It was so soon and as far as Ratchet could tell, the power obtained from the Cube wasn't slowing down the aging process. All this stress on the boy was not helping matters.

Bumblebee rolled away from the lookout point, the usual spot that they Autobots met before moving to the base in LA, and the place where Sam had been kidnapped four months ago. Getting to Mikaela home from the location was almost a straight shot. It didn't take long. Even though Sam advised against it, Bumblebee always went a little faster that the speed limit, except in residential areas. After Ratchet scared them all with a statistic of how many children were hit by cars when running into the street of a residential area, they all decided to slow down. Hound was also particularly afraid of hitting a domestic pet.

Bumblebee pulled onto Mikaela's street, but Sam hesitated in getting out at first. From the looks of a missing Lincoln, Mikaela's evil grandmother wasn't there, which was good, because he was in no mood to deal with her. The house had a light on, which indicated that Mikaela was more than likely home. Sam looked at Bee who gestured for him to go.

"You don't have to stick around," Sam said. "I'm going to be here for a while."

"Call me when you need me to get you. I'll be close by."

"I will," he said. "Thanks a lot, Bumblebee."

"You're welcome. Now hurry up. She's probably eager to see you."

Sam smiled the first real smile all day and climbed out of the car. Walking up a flight of wooden steps to the trailer, he raised a hand to knock. After a moment of muffled shuffling behind the wooden door, Mikaela answered and stared through the secondary screen at her boyfriend.

She smiled immediately, but it didn't meet her eyes. "Hey, Sam."

Sam didn't return the greeting and instead went with, "I'm sorry."

Mikaela bit her bottom lip and tried to act confused. "What are you sorry for?"

"For not talking, for how I've been acting. I've been cold, I know. You have every right to know what's going on and I've been keeping secrets. I'm so sorry."

Mikaela nodded and her blue eyes were clearly relieved. "You want to come in?"

Sam nodded and Mikaela opened the door for him. As soon as he was inside, Bumblebee peeled away from the house and back into the street. Sam kept his hands in his pockets as he walked into the small living room. Mikaela had just been watching TV from the looks of it, a bowl of popcorn, a soda, and reruns of _Full House_. She sat down on the couch and patted it as a gesture for him to sit by her.

"So, you want to fill me in now?" she asked.

He only paused briefly before speaking steadily. "You know how me and Bee can talk to each other mentally, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I think I'm intoned to the other Autobots now and even the Decepticons. I guess my connection with rubs off on me and I get like…this. It's hard to explain, but with bringing robots back to life, shooting energy beams out my hands, and being an alien medium I guess it's kind of finally hitting me and hitting me hard."

"Are you going to talk to Ratchet?"

"I should and I probably will, but Ratchet has his own issues to deal with and his problems are pretty much like mine. I don't want to bother him."

"Issues?"

"One of those things I can sense, but can't tell what's causing it," Sam said with a shrug. "But I think I might know a little. Ratchet has always been able to sense other transformers. It's his sixth sense, right? Well, remember how he was blind to the Decepticons' movement for a while? Well, I think that sense is back now and I think it's really wearing on him."

"And you know this because it's rubbing off on you?"

"Yeah. It also depends on how close I am to the robot in question. When I'm hanging around Bee, I can feel how worried he is about me. It's stronger with him because of the connection we have since you guys came to get me from Megatron."

"Are you okay though?" she asked. "You're okay, right?"

Sam sighed tiredly. Mikaela's arm came around his shoulder, her slim fingers toying with the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. It had the results of a deep tissue massage. He felt tension leak out of him like a dripping faucet, slowly and steadily. Then her scent hit him like a wrecking ball. His eyes slammed shut and he cursed himself. Now was not to time to be thinking about that kind of activity. It was instances like these that the heightened senses sucked. Now, his mind was on a one way track to her room with her in it.

"I'm okay," he managed. "I just get a little headache sometimes. Nothing serious."

Mikaela nodded slowly, though seemingly aware that he was downplaying his ailments. "Thanks you for telling me," she said. "I don't want you to keep secrets from me anymore, okay?"

Sam turned his head slowly, afraid how his new body would react to her if he did. His hands were tight in fists, his muscles tensing again and become hard. "I won't," he breathed. "No more secrets. You'll be the first to get the latest on All Spark 2.0."

She laughed a little and hugged him. Oh, _not_ good. Sam stopped breathing. He needed to talk to Ratchet first. He couldn't risk himself hurting her because he couldn't control his hormones. But Mikaela wasn't pulling away from the embrace, ignorant to Sam's dilemma and Sam's lungs were started to burn from lack of oxygen. Finally, he forced to breathe before he passed out. Her scent infiltrated his senses of smell and taste. The shampoo she used was on the lower layer of the scent that made her Mikaela. Had he been looking in a mirror, he would've noticed that his normal hazel eyes were turning blue and were emitting a soft white glow.

His head dropped and his lips fell onto the soft skin of her neck. Mikaela's arms tightened around him and her head turned to the side. Every reason Sam to be safe and logical was disappearing, fleeing out the open window in his mind. He was driven by primal need and passion, the power the All Spark energizing him.

Mikaela couldn't get a word in edge wise about his eyes when he pulled away, because he had forcibly slammed his lips on her with bruising force. Though startled, it wasn't something Mikaela hadn't expected. She had noticed a while ago that when Sam's eyes glowed like they did now meant that he had only on thing in mind and it always turned out enjoyable for the both of them.

"We can't," Sam said, his voice deeper than usual. Though he obvious had some sort of sanity left, it wasn't strong enough to keep him from kissing her.

"Why not?" she asked simply.

"I could hurt you."

She laughed. "How?"

He finally pulled back, his eyes still bright. Everything, from his point of view, was much more defined. He could count the freckles on Mikaela's nose if he wanted to. He could even see the blood pumping from through her veins if he looked hard enough. Her heartbeat was loud in his ears, her breathing a whispering breath in the air. He clenched his teeth together to keep his mouth and shut and prevent himself from surging forward again.

"I…I'm not in very much…_control_ of myself right now," he bit out. He lowered his head, looking up at her under hooded eyes, almost predatorily. "If I do lose complete control I could hurt you. _Badly_."

Mikaela leaned back a little. Sam released her with difficulty, like prying open a bear trap. Her eyes searched his face. He was shaking in his efforts to keep himself still. He should go. He should call Bee and get out before something happened that they'd regret. That had already through this stage of their relationship. The first time had been clumsy and innocent on both sides. Practice made perfect and awakened in him something beyond human. Now being almost half human and half Cybertronian, there was a combination of instincts that were fueling him.

Then something happened which he had praying for and against. Mikaela leaned in a kissed him chastely with a smile and utter four simple words that held much more meaning to him.

"You won't hurt me," she said confidently.

Sam wasn't so confident. "I could."

"But you won't. You can control yourself."

Sam shook his head. Sweat had already started to form on his skin from trying to keep himself in check. "I love you so much. I don't what I do if I lost you."

She smiled. "You won't. I trust you."

He practically sobbed his plea as he bowed his head. "Please don't say that."

"Sam."

Her voice accompanied the hands that took hold of his face and forced him to look up at her. She didn't give him a chance to back down before she took his lips with fervor. Sam's restraint snapped. He couldn't resist anymore. His eyes flashed white. He effortlessly lifted her into his lap and stood, her legs wrapping securely around his waist as he carried her to her room, kicking the door shut behind him.

* * *

**A/N:** So yeah, there you have it. The first couple of chapters will probably be filler, just to kinda get back into the groove of the story. I plan on a lot of things happening so it's going to take time to develop and longer chapters. Pretty much everyone has their own issues going on, like Sam and Ratchet, who have a very similar problem. There is a reason for that by the way, that I cannot discuss b/c it will give stuff away. So I hoped you liked it! Thanks for reading!

Please Review!


	4. Dilemmas

**A/N:** Yeah. No excuse other then school. Two internships, six classes, and I'm studying for the LSAT. I've hardly had time to live! I hope there's still people out there even interested in this. This story is becoming harder and harder to write. Too many ideas and not enough time to put them all down. Chapter length will probably get longer and longer. I didn't do a very good job editing this because I just wanted to post this. I've already started working on the next couple of chapters so hopefully I'll have an update soon. Sorry about how ridiculously long this took me. I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Transformers._

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3. Dilemmas

Jeffery Ellis unlocked the door to his open bedroom apartment, entering slowly with shuffling feet. A black and white kitten rushed up to greet him, but he was far too tired to give him a proper response. His gaze was tired, highlighted by the dark circles under his eyes and they watched as the kitten dodged into another room, obviously off to find something more entertaining then an old man. He absentmindedly locked the door and slid the chain into place, turning to greet an empty, pristinely clean apartment. That fact that it was empty was not surprising. Typically, that's how he found it, but clean on the other hand was not how he left it when he went to work.

The coffee table had been cleared of the usual clutter of crime scene notes and autopsy findings and replaced with a single TV remote that had been MIA for the best two and half weeks. The couch, with cushions flat with age was firm and stuffed. The familiar scarps of paper and crumbs from chips and cheesy snacks were gone and Jeffery realized that he had a carpet. And as Jeffery looked around the apartment, he stared at his labeled key and wondering if he had stepped into the wrong one, or maybe another dimension.

He took of his coat and threw it over the back of the couch.

"Jeffery Ellis! You pick that coat up right now and hang it in the closet. I just got done in there and I won't have you mess it up again."

Jeffery scrambled to get his coat and for good measure took his muddy shoes off before stepping on the freshly washed carpet.

Not many people were able to intimidate him. He looked into the eyes of serial murders and pedophiles on a regular basis and had always remained strong and unwavering. In fact, there were only a few people, countable on one hand, that could make him uneasy and one of those individuals was currently staring him down, wielding a _Swifer_ as deadly as a battle axe in yellow rubber gloves.

"Patty?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

Patricia Callaghan, Peyton's mother, scanned him with her eyes. She was an incessant neat freak. When stressed she cooked, cleaned or snuck shots of whiskey from the cupboard when she thought no one was looking. The late Edward Callaghan learned this the hard way. Unfortunately for his good buddy, Eddie and his daughter Peyton, they were routinely recruited into cleaning the house every Sunday when Patty demanded it. Patty was considered to be overbearing, especially in the years after her husband's murder. Peyton had been on the receiving end of this and it could explain some of Peyton's mannerisms and need for control. Now that Peyton was up and out of the house, Patty took her 'mother hen' tendencies out on her father, who came to live with them after his wife passed away. Her new job was to keep a senile, old World War II veteran out of trouble which was a 24/7 job.

Patty didn't answer his question. Instead she strode over and took his coat to the closet, hanging it up for him, probably assuming that he wasn't going to do it. "Change your clothes," she said. "They're filthy."

Jeffery looked down at him and silently agreed. He had just gotten back from a crime scene in the middle of the desert. A Caucasian male, ranging from 18 to 25 was found decapitated by some off-roaders enjoying the mud that had accumulated do to the flash flood the night before. The victim was found naked, no identification and the head was missing, more than likely taken by the killer or swept away in the flood, given the TOD was before the flood occurred.

The bottoms of his pants were ruined from the mud. His shirt was dusty and stained. His face was smeared and his shoes, which he had taken off at the door, were caked. Smiling sheepishly at her, he frowned when she didn't return it. Patty returned to the kitchen and Jeffery immediately sensed that something was wrong.

She looked a lot older than she should. Patty married at a young age and had Peyton when she was twenty-five, now making her forty-nine, pushing fifty. Her dark eyes were clouded with exhaustion and weary and it wasn't from the daunting task of cleaning Jeffery's apartment. She was usually all smiles, not matter the circumstances. She always made more food then necessary, shoving it down your throat, even though you had already popped the button on your pants to fit it all. She never sat down to eat, unless her guests were satisfied.

"Are you alright?" Jeffery asked cautiously.

"I came by to visit and saw that a mess this place was so…I decided to clean up. I don't know how you can live like this, Jeff. I was expecting cockroaches or ants at least," she stated. "I could hardly get to the kitchen without breaking my neck! I wanted a cup of coffee, but all your mugs were dirty so I did the dishes too."

He was fifty-five, but Jeffery could still pout. "I was gonna do them."

Patty rose a skeptical brow, scoffing. "Uh huh. Sure you were."

Jeffery shifted on his feet. "So, how've you been? How's your Dad?"

The woman rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, he went out with Karen Richards from across the street. I don't understand that man! He's seventy-six years old and he insists on dating." She sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him. Why he wants to go out with Karen Richards is beyond me. She can't get anywhere without her walker, now, so I don't know what he's expecting from her. Oh, and just the other day…"

Jeffery tried to stifle his laughter. To him, it sounded exactly like Joe Tiano; the senile womanizer. Unfortunately for Jeffery, Patty didn't miss him trying to withhold his amusement.

"It's not funny!" she cried. "I'm pushing fifty and my father is trying to get a girlfriend? What is wrong with that picture? Do you even know how that makes me feel? Not only uncomfortable, but grossed out! I don't want to think about my father _dating_. I may be old, but not old enough to not think that isn't weird."

So, now Jeffery was laughing out loud and Patty continued to rant. She resorted to violence to get him to stop, slugging her husband's best friend in the shoulder. Jeffery yelled out in pain. The woman didn't know her own strength.

"Come on," she said with an annoyed huff, "I'm making meatloaf and mash potatoes for dinner and pineapple upside-down cake for desert."

Jeffery frowned as Patty stalked to the kitchen. "But I don't have any other the stuff to make that."

"I know," she replied. "I had to go shopping. Now hurry up and change!"

Jeffery went to his room and did just that. He changed into casual jeans and a CSI t-shirt. The smell of the meatloaf drove him to hurriedly wash his face and head to the kitchen. There wasn't a dish on the counter or in the sink. The meatloaf had just been set in the oven and the delicious aroma reminded Jeffery of how hungry he was. Patty had removed her gloves and was mixing the ingredients for the cake. Jeffery didn't miss the fact that pineapple upside-down cake was Peyton's favorite. The girl would come running from anywhere to get a piece.

"Can I help?" Jeffery offered.

"I don't think so," Patty answered. "I threw away twelve old take out boxes in the fridge, not to mention your milk was seven days old. I don't think you can cook to save your life."

Jeffery shrugged. He wouldn't deny it. His diet mostly consisted of take-out or soups or miniscule things that were easy for any un-kitchen savvy man to make. But not to be entirely useless, Jeffery set the table.

"So have you talked to Peyton?" she asked.

Jeffery paused momentarily, but not enough for Patty to notice. "A little. How about you."

"A little," she answered softly. "She's still rather broken up about Carter."

Jeffery bowed his head. A lot of people at the lab were still hurting after that. The funeral had been held in Vegas when it in Carter's Will that he wanted to be buried in the city that he had loved so much. His family wanted to contest that, but Jeffery had been named Power of Attorney and had final say. The lab felt empty without Carter's arrogant teasing. It had always been good natured and got a few laughs.

The death was covered up with an accident. In order to keep the Autobots and Decepticons a secret, the government had lied. The truth wouldn't have gone over very well anyways. Sometimes Jeffery couldn't believe that Carter was gone. He still expected him to enter his office with his usual cocky swagger, grinning from ear to ear. Something about it was just so wrong. It was wrong for him to have died the way he did, yes, but it wasn't so much that then the fact that the smart-mouthed, passionate CSI that had solved so many cases, hot and cold, and brought closure to families and the memories of their lost ones that was really the sad thing.

But Jeffery knew the truth and it ate at him. If Carter hadn't died, Peyton would have. Optimus had given him the whole story about what had happened. Carter was killed shoving Peyton out of the way of Frenzy's attack and bleed to death in her arms. If he knew Peyton like he think he did, he knew that the girl tended to have a hard time letting things go, this stemming from the reality that her father's murderer had never been caught. She was more than likely obsessing about it and pushing everyone away.

He remembered her at the funeral, riding up in Ironhide. She told him that Optimus was somewhere nearby. She had been a blank canvas. You could've painted any emotion on her face and it was more frightening than seeing her cry. Jeffery new that Peyton had still loved Carter, if only a little and while things ended horribly between them from a combination of mistrust and jealously, Peyton would have never wished death on him, even when she lost the baby. His suspicions were confirmed by her behavior. Jeffery was not a people person. He had a hard time socializing and given his profession he was much better at observing that interaction. He knew that Carter's death was a heavy weight on Peyton's shoulders and it was pushing her to the ground. And he didn't think she was fighting it all that hard and that scared him.

Peyton hadn't been the one to call him to let him know that Carter was dead. Secretary of Defense, John Keller had taken the job. When Jeffery asked for Peyton he was rewarded with something along the lines of 'she is not in the right state of mind.' Jeffery had gotten a hold of Peyton eventually and demanded that she return to Vegas. Peyton had paused, seeming to consider it, but ultimately decided that she would stay.

"I can't. I stuck in this now. I need to see this through to the end," she had said.

There had been nothing said about wanting to stay with her new friends and comrades, or about Optimus. She just felt like she was obligated to stay. He didn't think Optimus would agree with that ideology. He'd release her in a heartbeat, or whatever, if he was concerned for her health.

"It was really a tragedy," Patty said sadly. "Carter was the first boyfriend that Peyton ever brought home for dinner. He was such a gentlemen and he seemed to have really loved her, too. I still don't know why they broke up."

And Jeffery wasn't going to tell her. He had already learned his lesson in that department and, in a way; it directly led to Carter's death. Telling Patty that Peyton miscarried her first grandchild would not bode well with her and it would bring Peyton more grief then was necessary. Patty had been hinting at her desire for grandchildren in the future, not immediately, but soon. Jeffery wasn't sure if Peyton even wanted kids now.

"This is a really long vacation," Patty said curiously. "I mean, I know she never missed a day of work, but to be out for three months?"

Jeffery looked up at her. The woman hadn't stopped cooking. It was her distraction. It kept her level and sane. She was worried about her only child, which was understandable. Any parent would. Jeffery didn't want to think about what the woman would do if she really knew what Peyton was up to. He actually smiled a little. Knowing Patty, she'd have her initial freak out, maybe faint, but then she'd drive to LA with the mindset of dragging Peyton's ass back home. She'd take on all the Autobots if she had to. Patty could take them down, no problem, if given a frying pan and taking in their account of being unable to harm humans. She'd have them running.

Patty turned slowly, holding the mixing bowl in her arm as she continued to stir. "What's going on, Jeffery?" she asked softly. "I know you know something. You're he boss and her godfather." She paused for a moment and stopped stirring. "I know she's not on vacation."

Jeffery didn't want to lie to her. He had known her for years, back when she and Ed were just dating. He knew how she'd react and for her own wellbeing, as well as his own, physically, he wasn't going to tell her. He'd fabricate another lie to keep her off the scent until Peyton could get here to visit, whenever that would be.

He was vaguely aware of the string of words that were flowing from his mouthing, seemingly, on their own accord. He was a well drawn out story, hinting at nothing, just another lie. Patty didn't buy it. She turned towards the counter, her lips pressed in a firm line, premature wrinkles becoming for defined with stress and worry. She silently poured the batter into the pan.

Patty finished making dinner; meatloaf with broccoli and potatoes. They ate in silence and then Patty left with a soft goodbye, after doing the dishes. Her voice was hoarse and tired, verging on tears.

Jeffery felt like a complete asshole.

He whipped out his phone, the plastic cracking warningly in his grip. He held down the number 2 longer and harder then needed. He wasn't surprised when it went right to voicemail.

"Hey, this is Peyton. Sorry I couldn't get to the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can."

He waited for the tone. "Call your mother. She really needs to hear your voice. You also might want to be a little more honest with her. Your father isn't here anymore, Peyton. You're all she has left."

He hung up without a goodbye.

* * *

Jazz decided that for Candy's—Beth's—own safety, staying in Vegas was not an option. Sin City was no place for a young woman like herself. He was fooling himself. He had been in this town long enough to know that strippers were not pushovers. In an every day life, Beth would have been able to handle herself just fine. But when there was an evil villain like Donnie with mob connections like in the olden days of Vegas Jazz decided to stand in and play the hero.

Convincing her hadn't been difficult. She wasn't stupid and staying here would only result in a grim demise. She didn't have much. She had a few clothes, toiletries, equipment for her hair, a few books and a few movies. She had her jewelry and he had been the slightest bit bummed when she didn't bring any of her costumes. Jazz cursed himself as a pervert for that one. She was now coming down with a single black duffle bag, ready but still hesitant.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked. "I mean, you don't have to take me with you if you don't want to."

"I helped get you into this mess, I'm going to get you out of it," Jazz stated. He had his holoform take her back and put it in the back seat for easy accessibility.

Beth smiled with a casual shrug. "If you really don't mind," she said. "But where are we going?"

Where were they going to go? Jazz's processor had immediately gone to Los Angeles where his comrades were still located. He knew that his fellow Autobots would be more than happy to see his return with or without the baggage what had been weighing down on him for the past few months. But he really didn't think Beth needed to be exposed to alien life forms secretly living on her home planet. It was bad enough that her association with him could get her into trouble if they ran into any Decepticons. Hopefully that would not be an issue since had started heading east soon after the battle in LA.

Tranquility was out of the question as well. Sam, Mikaela, Miles, and Trent were still in high school, and through they were graduating very soon, he couldn't risk it there either. The best thing he could do would be to head up towards Washington and Oregon, maybe even Canada if he became that desperate. Or he could go all the way down to Mexico if it was a different country he wanted to seek refuge in. But that would also be a bad idea. Not only could Hound or Ratchet detect him, but if he was caught by a foreign government the US would have a lot to explain and that was a headache no one could afford.

"Hey," Beth said. "You okay?"

"Hmm?"

"You spaced out on me there," she said concernedly. "Are you okay?"

"I was just thinking," Jazz replied. "I think we'll head north. Does Donnie have ties north of here?"

Beth shifted on in her tennis shoes anxiously, leaning into his real body. "Probably," she admitted. "There's rumors about Donnie have connections in every state and in Mexico. I don't know if there true. Vegas may have been built by gangsters, but they've kind of died out. Donnie is the only one that I know of."

So Mexico was out. Dang. The beach would have been nice. "So how about Seattle?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "He never talked that kind of business around the girls. If he does have people up there and they find us, then we're pretty screwed."

Jazz highly doubted that. Worse comes to worse he'd transform. Sure he wasn't allowed to kill humans, but there was no reason he couldn't scare the pit out of them if came right down to it. "We'll be fine. Ready?"

Beth pursed her lips together tightly and turned to face her apartment one last time. Her goodbye was silent minus the heavy sigh that she released through her nose. She smiled shyly at him and nodded. She climbed into the passenger seat and buckled herself in and Jazz did the same.

Jazz made a show of performing all the steps a human driver would take to prepare for a drive. He checked the mirrors and started the car by turning a useless key where the ignition went. They peeled out of the parking lot and down the street. Jazz was very much aware of the black SUV that immediately started to tail them and that the two occupants inside were probably Donnie's cronies. It wouldn't be hard to lose them. Unlike real earth vehicles, he did not rely on fossil fuels and he had stored enough energon in his trunk to last him a few more months.

Beth was silently staring out the window, watching the desert scenery rush by. Jazz noted how different she looked in something other than the tiniest pieces of sequenced material available and stiletto heels. She was wearing gray running pants and matching gray sweater over a slim, white t-shirt. She was ready for a long trip. It made him grin, though he didn't exactly know why.

"Something funny?" she asked.

Jazz looked over at her, still grinning. Her green eyes were alight with confusion and curiosity. "It's nothing."

She suddenly looked knowing. "It's weird not seeing me naked, huh?"

Jazz shifted in his seat. "You weren't completely naked."

She snorted. "Close enough."

"So why were you…you know," he coughed, "…a dancer?"

She shrugged. "I didn't have much a choice. I got kicked out when I was fifteen. I lived in soup kitchens for a year and then Donnie picked me up. Granted I couldn't dance yet, but I remember him telling me what I flower I would grow up to be. He featured me on my eighteenth birthday." She sighed and ran a hand through her long brown hair. "I was making a damn good living. I wasn't a prostitute on the street and I wasn't doing drugs. I had security and I was saving money up for college. I had gotten my GED and figured with a few more years of taking my clothes off for business men I could get a degree."

Jazz frowned. "You got kicked out of your home?"

Beth stiffened. "Yeah."

Jazz took the hint and didn't press for details.

"So I bet you feel like a real badass right now, don't you," she said teasingly. "Saving the girl and whisking her away from the big, old, fat villain."

Jazz shrugged and grinned at her dashingly. "A little."

Beth laughed. "Men are so typical."

Jazz liked the way her voice would light up as she laughed. She had a nice smile as well. He thought the way she tugged on the sleeves on her sweater to cover her palms was cute. Not to mention how she would curl her thin legs under her on the seat. But the gestures were insecure and for a woman who took her clothes off for a living it was humbling to see her acting in such a way. She was still so young, she was only twenty-two.

He focused on the road again, occasionally looking back at the SUV tailing them three cars back. Amateurs. But Beth didn't need to be worried about that. He should have been thinking such things about Beth. It was bad enough he let her give him a fraggin' lap dance and it was even worse that he kissed her twice, once at the club during the lap dance and again outside of her apartment. Letting his thoughts venture in the direction of what could have been was only going to get them both into a lot of trouble.

"So about last night," she began and he became convinced she could read minds. "I'm sorry I came onto you like that."

Jazz stiffened in his seat, but tried to play it off coolly, but he shuddered. And it wasn't his holoform. Beth looked around startled as to why the car would shake like that. Jazz saw that she noticed and tried to relax slowly so she wouldn't notice again.

"It's no big deal," he said. "I wasn't complaining." _Slag._ "I mean, I, uh, kind of encouraged it, right?" _Dammit!_ "I mean, I kind of liked it." _…Oh, frag it all…_

Beth merely stared as the once confident young man got tongue tied in front of her like a hormonal ridden teenager. He eventually released a heavy breath, clearly giving up. Beth wasn't ignorant to the situation. When a young, sexy woman who worked as an exotic dancer less than twenty-four hours ago practically throws herself at a man and he turns her down it could be any of these three reasons;

One, the man is just a polite gentleman and respected her enough not to take advantage of her given the situation that had been face with. This is America, people, and it's rather difficult to find men of that caliber nowadays.

Two, the man was having some dysfunctions below the belt. With age comes complications, but this man was no older than twenty-seven from the looks of it and, therefore, too young for erectile dysfunction.

And then three, the man was gay.

A girl could hope and pray for a number one, but in the end, it always ended up being number three. It was a sad day for the female species when a guy like Jazz was a number three.

"Hey," she said. "It's okay. We got caught up in the moment, you know? The fight, saving the damsel in distress and now we're on the run. It's something out of an action movie. But I've have my suspicions about you."

Jazz frowned. "What suspicions?"

Beth bit her lip. "Well," she said gently, "the first night you came to the club I was on stage. You were watching me very…intently so I figured you'd get a word in with Donnie with a private show, which you did. Donnie would've made me do anything for the right price and with the cash you were dishing out like candy you could've _bought _me for a week."

Jazz's blue eyes darkened considerably. "I would never have done something like that."

"Yeah, I know. You just wanted to talk," she reminded. "I thought you were just messing with me. It kind of creeped me out. But you were so genuine and sweet. I just couldn't tell you no. After the first couple of times you showed up I started looking forward to seeing you. It was a break from the groping and being eyed like a piece of meat. But every time I tried to follow through on what you paid for you stopped me. So then I started thinking…well…"

"Thinking what?" Jazz pressed with some hesitance.

"It's okay if you're gay, you know," she said, her voice filled with support and encouragement. "If you need to come out to someone you can come out to me. I won't judge you."

Jazz eyes had widened considerably. "I'm not gay."

Beth only continued to smile. "It's okay. I don't mind. I think you'll feel a lot better if you just admit it. I know plenty of gay guys and girls and their perfectly happy. What is it? Overbearing parents who wouldn't accept you?"

"No, I'm just not—"

"Oh! Do you have a secret boyfriend? Well, wait. If you did why would you be at a strip club?"

"Beth, I do not have a secret boy—"

"Oh, wait again. Maybe you're bi. I mean, we're a 'girl dancers only' establishment so that wouldn't do you any good if you were completely gay, would it?"

"Beth!" he cried desperately. "I'm not gay."

Beth's mouth snapped shut, her teething clinking together. Jazz looked embarrassed and frustrated. Leaning back in her seat, Beth's face flushed red. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," Jazz sighed. "You were only trying to…_help_."

She peered up at him shyly. "So…you're not gay?"

"No."

"Bi?"

"No."

"Then I just made myself look like a total dumbass, didn't I?"

"A little."

Beth laughed tensely and ran a hand through her hair again, a habit she preformed when she was nervous. "Thanks for being honest." She curled up in on herself further in her seat as she wrung her hands together tightly, pursing her lips together before she looked at him hesitantly again. "So if it wasn't sexual orientation issues why didn't you let me…_do_ anything?"

"I let you 'do something' last night."

"Yeah, three and a half months later."

Jazz shrugged. "It just wasn't what I…needed at the time."

Beth looked expectantly. "What did you need?"

"Companionship, I guess. You were right about me running away. Without my comrades—friends I was just a little lonely."

"Comrades? Are you in the army or something?"

Jazz nodded slowly. "You could say that?"

"Wow," she said. "Did you serve over in Iraq?"

"No," he answered. "I served somewhere else. Somewhere much further away."

"Where?"

Jazz tilted his head down. "I'd rather not talk about it. It was a long time ago."

Beth nodded and didn't push for anymore, understanding the need for space. They fell silent. The SUV tailing them made no moves. It was dark when the SUV ran out of gas. Jazz made sure his passenger remained oblivious to them the entire time. She fell asleep for a little more than an hour. Jazz watched her. He committed how her lips had parted slightly to memory along with the sound over her soft breathing and her long eyelashes dusting her cheeks. She was, indeed, a very, very beautiful human female, but the fact that he was even attracted to her was completely wrong. He bet that none of the other Autobots had this kind of problem.

* * *

Sunstreaker scanned Maggie's apartment in silent calculation, having never been inside it before tonight. It was nice. It looked expensive, but with a government paycheck it wasn't hard to keep up with the rent. Maddie had cleared out the guest room of her junk and it was Peyton was going to say once she decided to take a break from the base. It wasn't exactly Optimus's idea to keep her there.

Maggie was in the kitchen making a sandwich. "I feel like I should offer you something," she said. "But it wouldn't do you any good, would it?"

Sunny grinned a little. "Since I can't eat food, no."

Maggie peeked from around the corner into the entry way where he stood, right in front of the door. "Well, come in! You just don't have to stand there."

Sunny did so cautiously, not really sure how to behave. He didn't want to touch anything in fear of breaking it, so he headed right for the couch and sat down, his hands on his knees. When Maggie invited him up for a while to took every once of his will power not to rush up to the apartment with her in his excitement. He agreed while keeping his tone tight and straight forward, not wavering or betraying anything.

The elevator right was something else. Sunny declared he'd never do it again. It was nerve wracking having to rely on a rectangular box hanging from groups of steel cables over a tall shaft that would not doubt kill them both if it decided to give. Of course there had been similar devices on Cybertron, but I was unnerving just the same. Maybe it was because he didn't trust human technology. Maggie merely laughed at his nervousness and held his hand. He, of course, tried to play it off, but when they finally reached her floor, the way the elevator stopped would make a human's stomach roll.

Upon entering the apartment, Maggie waddled into the kitchen. Her leg was still in need of healing, but with the boot that was now replaced her cast, she could at least bare a little weight on it as she walked around. Sunny was constantly worried she would fall and hurt herself even more.

After announcing she was hungry, she went to make her sandwich, and brought them to the current situation where Sunny sat on the couch and Maggie waddled over to him, haphazardly falling back onto the couch, placing a dish in her lap. Without a word, she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Sunny looked at her out of the corner of his eye as she ate her sandwich and watched _Jeopardy_. Maggie got the answer right pretty much every time.

"Oh, shoot," she muttered. "I forgot my drink."

Sunny got his feet before Maggie had a chance. "I'll get it," he volunteered. "What do you want?"

Maggie smiled up at him gratefully. "Just a diet Coke, please."

"Diet sodas are carcinogenetic."

"Yeah, but isn't the question 'what isn't carcinogenetic these days'?"

"…"

"Okay, how about some apple juice."

Sunny nodded acceptingly and headed for the kitchen. He had no idea that Maggie, was indeed, checking out his butt as he walked. He also missed her reddened face as she spun back around on the couch and slunk down into the cushions, stuffing her mouth with a way to big bite of her sandwich.

Walking to the fridge, he pulled out the apple juice, got a glass and poured a hefty amount. Putting the apply juice back he returned with her drink and wordlessly handed it over. Maggie, who was still a little pink smiled and took it with a soft thank you.

"You're still recovering," he said, while sitting. "You shouldn't over exert yourself."

Maggie merely smiled at him, leaning back into the couch, her show forgotten. "You know, a nice 'you're welcome' would've sufficed."

Sunny grinned and turned to face her. "You're…" and that's when he just so happen to realize how close they were sitting next to each other and how she was looking directly into his eyes, "welcome."

Maggie only continued to smile, like she knew something and wasn't letting him in on it. Grabbing her sandwich, she took another bite, smaller this time around, like nothing had happened. Sunny on the other hand was starting to sweat a little. Primus, sometimes he hated how on edge Maggie made him feel. It was like—wait. Sweat? He couldn't sweat. But sure enough, he felt the back of his neck and it was wet.

"You okay?"

Sunny's eyes snapped to Maggie who was taking in the shocked expression on his face with concern. "Huh?"

"You look kind of pale," she said. "Are you sick? Can you even get sick?"

"Not with human illnesses."

"Well, how about one for your species then?"

"High unlikely," he affirmed. "Ratchet's given everyone a…vaccination, I guess, for most of our known viruses. I'm not sick."

Maggie nodded, but still looked worried. Sunstreaker was baffled. He shouldn't be sweating. He was not an organic based organism and therefore lacked sweat glands, or water in his body whatsoever. This body he was currently in. technically, wasn't real. The MHG was powered by energon intake as well as their sparks. A portion of their spark's energy was transferred to the holoform when it was generated, which granted the form moved and a feeling of sentience, but it was still real. So the fact that his holoform was behaving like a real human made no sense.

"You're sweating," Maggie noted, hazel eyes wide.

Sunny shifted in his seat. "Yeah, so?"

"You're not supposed to do that," she said, leaning closer. "Not even a little bit. Are you malfunctioning or something?"

Sunny stared at one of his human hands. "Maybe."

"Want to call Hound?"

"He and Epps are still not back yet. I'll wait until their return."

Maggie frowned. "Why can't you just call to see?"

Sunny rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Maggie sighed and got to her feet, and before Sunny could protest she hobbled to the kitchen. "I'm still hungry. Come help me make something."

Sunny grinned a little at her annoyance in him and her remaining hunger. She was cute when she got frustrated. He got up and followed her into the kitchen. "What do you want to make?"

"I don't know yet," she said. "Something sweet. Oh, like brownies or cake!"

"Do I need to mention all the sugars and—"

"No you do not. I like sweets. In moderation they're fine."

Sunny rolled his eyes. Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms and watched Maggie raid her kitchen to satisfy her sweet-tooth. "None of this is good for you."

"Seriously, what are you, my mother?" She cast him an irritated look over her shoulder from where she stood in from where she stood in front of the pantry. "Get the milk and eggs from the fridge, please."

He did as he was told and brought them over to the long countertop near the stove. Maggie had a box of Betty Crocker chocolate cake mix and she was reading the directions on the back. Sunny, however, was scanning the amount of calories and chemical compounds that it contained. He sighed. Maggie swiftly swatted his arm.

"It's not going to kill me," she said.

"…Yet."

"Will you relax? If only you could eat cake, you wouldn't be difficult."

Sunny scoffed, crossing his arms. "I would never eat that junk. There is no nutritional value whatsoever."

Maggie looked at him skeptically. "I would never take you for the health-food nut."

"You shouldn't be eating this."

"Well, I am. Help me."

"I don't want to help you kill yourself with multiple sugar products."

"Will you stop? I'm not going to die!"

Sunny merely pouted. That was the best word Maggie had for his expression. She got a mixing bowl and spoon and Sunny was no eager to jump in and assist. Maggie glared at him irritably until he got the hint. Sighing, Sunny stepped closer and picked up the box and quickly scanned the directions. Maggie watched with an open mouth as Sunny quickly added all the ingredients to bowl without using a measuring cup or checking the directions a second time.

Both of his hands were as work while added the approximate amount of milk and vegetable oil, probably more accurate than she could have ever done with a measuring cup. It was times like these that Maggie had to remind herself that Sunstreaker was like a walking-talking computer, even in this form. It all took less than a minute. He picked up the bowl, holding it against his chest as he stirred, leaning back against the counter.

"Want to get the pan?" he asked.

Maggie grinned a little. "Thanks for letting me contribute."

He casually shrugged. "Didn't want you to feel left out."

Maggie got the pan from under the stove. After setting it out on the counter, Maggie eyes the mixing bowl. Smiling eagerly, she dipped her finger into the mix. Her finger was on her way to her mouth when Sunny's hand snapped out and grabbed her wrist, his bright blue eyes narrowed and hard.

"You can't eat that."

"Why not?"

"There's raw egg in there. Do you want to get sick?"

Maggie tried to pull her hand away. "I do it all the time. Lighten up."

"It's unhealthy."

"Yeah? Well, I eat raw cookie dough all the time too and I'm just fine."

His eyes widened momentarily in surprise before narrowing again. "I am _never_ leaving you unsupervised in the kitchen again."

Maggie plastered a pouty-glare on her face. She unsuccessfully tried to stare him down. Without warning, she pushed her hand towards him, catching his nose with her coated finger, leaving a sugary streak on his nose and leaving Sunny wide-eyed surprised. Maggie snorted in laughter. Sunny slowly raised a hand to his face, wiping the mix from his nose. Staring at his hand first, he glared at Maggie who laughed harder. Sunny stoically reached over and smeared a wider streak on Maggie's nose. Maggie's mouth dropped in shock and it was Sunstreaker's turn to grin.

"You jerk," she pouted again, wiping her nose.

"You started it."

She flashed a pretty smile, re-dipped her finger in the mix and, before he could grab her, leapt away, sticking her finger in her mouth.

"I told you not to eat that," Sunny said, outraged. "Do you know what salmonella is?"

Maggie licked her finger clean, still smiling. "Whatever. Put the cake in the pan, Suzie Homemaker."

But Sunny had been momentarily distracted by Maggie's display of licking batter from her finger. Maggie walked to the sink to wash her hands and Sunny was still staring at her. He still saw her pink tongue sliding over her finger, until it was clean and glistening.

Why was it suddenly so hot in here?

Sunny turned towards the pan and poured the mix in. He had never seen something so erotic. Why the hell did he ever think that erotic? Sure he was male, but not a human.

He inhaled deeply and slowly. He was sweating again. He could feel it sliding down his back like he had just run a marathon. This was not good. Clearly his holoform was malfunctions. His pants were getting tight as well and his—wait. What?

Sunny grabbed the mixing spoon from the counter and began to scope the remainder of the mix into the pan while precariously looking down.

"You okay?"

Sunny nearly leapt out of his 'skin' as he whirled around to face Maggie. She had already set the oven to preheat and was currently fixing him with a concerned stare. Sunny backtracked a little, but turned into the counter to hide a growing problem.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just a little warm."

"Seriously, Sunny," Maggie said worriedly, "call Hound. You really don't look good."

Maybe he should take that into deeper consideration given the situation. "I will talk to him when he gets back. Is the oven ready?"

"No yet. Don't change the subject. Sunny…"

The worse possible thing could have happened. Her thin fingers landed on his bare bicep. Immediately, he shuddered. Her hands were cool against his holoform's skin. In contrast to his burning skin the sensation was isolated and all that he could focus on. This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. What was happening with his generator?

Everything seemed to be fading, except the touch on his arm. Everything was dimmed, including Maggie's voice as she exclaimed over his hot skin. Her hand left his arm as she announced she was going to call Hound since he wouldn't.

His spark suddenly cried out in alarm. His hand snapped out on its own accord and snagged her arm, hauling her back. Maggie's voice was fleeting on the edge of his processor. Just the sensation of her cool skin was there. Pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her waist and back, holding her against his chest securely. She was so cool compared to him that he sought relief in it. His head lowered to her shoulder, his forehead resting against her skin.

"Sunny?"

Her clothes were in the way. He didn't like that a majority of the relief was hidden from him. His hot hands pushed up under her shirt, his fingertips ghosting over pale flesh. Maggie gasped in surprise, stiffening against him.

"Sunny, what are you doing? You're acting weird."

He was acting too much like a human, but he couldn't help himself. He ignored her again, pushing her shirt up higher until her entire stomach was revealed to him. Maggie tried her luck in pulling away and the result was shocking. Did Sunny just…_growl_ at her?

Then the oven pinged when reaching 350 degrees. Sunny leapt away, in a single bound, putting himself on the other side of the kitchen, slamming into the counter. Maggie reached up cautiously to pull down her shirt, blushing embarrassingly as she looked at the oven. She forced an anxious smile as she grabbed the pan and put it into the oven. Setting the timer, she stepped back. All the while she was coming up with a game plan on how to talk about what had just happened.

Then, there was the piercing wail of squealing tires. Maggie spun around and Sunny was gone. She rushed to the window as fast as she was able to see the fading taillights of a yellow Lamborghini fading in the distance.

* * *

**A/N:** There's a good reason for the "malfunctions" of the MHGs. It'll be explained in due time, but eventually they're gonna be causing some problems and that part is gonna FUN to write :P Anyways, sorry for the wait. I'll try to update sooner. Thanks for reading!

-Ray


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